


A long way home

by justreaderr



Series: Rhûnon [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad English, Beginning of the Second Age, But I think still readable, Corporal Punishment, Forgiveness, Gen, Loyalty, New Elvenrealm, Redemption, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, very!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7649590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justreaderr/pseuds/justreaderr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vast number of Elves returned after the War of Wrath with the Valar back to Valinor, so it is said. And the last son of Feanor haunts the coast driven by desperate grief, madly singing his pain to the winds, so the old tales tell. But is this really true?<br/>Very!AU (but who cares? I certainly do not.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little warning: English is not my native tongue so shitty spelling and grammar ahead.  
> This story is a prologue (sort of) to set up a universe and part of a series where I can stuff some ideas in that universe which are spooking through my head.

First Age 587 (Years of the Sun)

Slowly Maglor lowered his head and let his tears run freely. They had failed and tore their world, the world of elves apart with their failure. He had known this all the time, but managed to supress the feeling, thinking of the Silmaril, thinking it would be worth the sacrifices in the end.

But the pulsing burn in his left hand curtly remained him how wrong he had been. Everything had been for nothing. They had failed.

Stepping closer to the edge of the cliff hundred feet over the raging sea he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. His Fae felt hollow and arched in the cruel absence of his last remaining and most beloved brother, but he was gone now. He had felt his death not even half a day ago. Maglor was alone with his guilt and their failure.

Closing the last bit of distance to the depth that promised salvation he looked down on the sharp rocks that would shatter his body, break his bone and end his pitiful existence. But he could not, not yet. With his brother gone, there was still one last duty that fell now on his shoulders. Their people, so loyal they had stood by their vow to his house, even though most of them had not followed them to their last kinslayings, unwilling to spill more blood of their kin, they were still bond and would not be able to find a new Lord or return to their homeland in Valinor.

How many had survived the War of Wrath, had survived the drowning of Beleriand, how many loved ones had they lost? For all their failures, this was their worst failing; they had not only betrayed their kin but also betrayed the loyalty of those who had sworn themselves to the house of Feanor to find safety and prosperity. They had torn them down, ripped their families apart and destroyed everything they had held dear. Instead of safety they had given them bloodshed and destruction and instead of prosperity only desperation and grief had been their reward.

He closed his eyes again and opened his Fae to call them all back to his side. Once he had relieved them of their vow they might find some happiness again. Free of their ties to the house of Feanor there might still be some hope for them, for they were innocent and had only followed their commands, they did not deserve to suffer for their loyalty.

It would take some days until they would reach his side, so he dropped ungraceful to the ground to stare into the abysm. His last few days were well spent grieving their deeds.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After a few days the first elves arrived but Maglor could not bring himself to face them, so he continued to stare his death in the face, waiting until his people had assembled entirely.

It took nearly two weeks for them all to come, but once he felt the last one settling on the cliff he slowly raised and after a long moment of hesitation turned around.

Hundreds upon hundreds of elves sat and stood on the dry grass, waiting for him to address them. He allowed himself a moment to take in their familiar faces, to look in their forlorn and frightened eyes and observe their ragged and tattered clothing. Some looked a bit better to wear but most looked too thin and the hopelessness in their eyes tore at his heart. This was his fault, well, their fault but now only he remained so this was for him alone to bear.

When they noticed his attention on them they all arose and looked at him expectantly.

Maglor swallowed hard, but finally spoke, “My family has failed ... I have failed. We left the blessed land behind to take revenge and reclaim the Silmaril, but also to find a new home where we would prosper without the supressing influence of the Valar. Yet what have we archived? Nothing but the death of innocent elves slain by our hands, we have singlehandedly destroyed our kin and tore a once powerful people to shreds leaving but a pitiful remainder behind.”, he swallowed again and felt the first tears running down his face, but made no move to hide them or try to suppress them.

“And we have spit in the faces of those who have sworn their loyalty to us; turned a good people, honourable, kind and brave elves into murderers. We betrayed your faith in us and your loyalty. I betrayed your faith and loyalty. You have lost everything because of our greed, because of my greed; your honour, your home, your friends, your family, your mates and your elflings.

Nothing of this I can give back to you, no matter how much I wish I could. No matter how much I wish I could turn back time. You have suffered enough by our hand so I release you of your vow to my house. Return with Arafinwë to Valinor or swear yourself to Ereinion and rebuild your lives there, you have suffered enough and deserve to find happiness again

My brother is gone, this you have surely felt already and I ...” Maglor shook his head and looked over to the abysm that called for him so sweetly, then dropped on his knees and bowed his head, “I would beg your forgivingness but our deeds are unforgivable. I am the last remaining, exact vengeance on me and then move on with your lives, regain the happiness we robed you of.”

The silence that followed those words was overbearing and for a long while no one dared to make a sound until finally Maglor could hear a pair of soft steps nearing him, but did not dare to look up at whoever was approaching him.

“We have followed the house of Fëanáro, we have followed you. I have followed you.” Maglor recognised the voice of Belegron, his captain and advisor, his oldest friend and swallowed again, new tears flooding his eyes and running down the length of his face. “For you I left our home behind, for you I became a warrior, for you I became a murderer. I followed you into war against Morgoth and against our kin. I have always followed you. Now Morgoth has been defeated and the Silmaril are gone, the vow is null and void. The time of war lies behind us.” a pair of heavy hands settled on his shoulders ere dropping to his arms.

“I have always followed you, Mellon, and I will always follow you, even if death is the destiny.”

With a look of horror on his face Maglor looked up at his old companion and found the other elf’s determined eyes. The kneeling elf opened his mouth as if to speak, to protest, but Belegron tightened his grip on him and pulled him back up on his feet.

For a moment the two elves stared at each other, but then Belegron stepped forward. “I will always follow you”, he presses his lips to Maglor’s forehead “My prince”, he pressed his lips to his mouth “My captain” then he dropped to his knees and pressed his lips to Maglor’s hand. “My king. The war is over and I will follow you to wherever you will lead me. Neither Valinor nor the service of the elfling high-king holds any allure for a burdened elf such as me. Do not try cast me aside, for I will never leave you.”

Caught completely off-guard Maglor could only stare unblinkingly at his loyal friend who kneeled still in front of him, holding his hand and only laid his lips against his signet ring again, keeping their eye contact and waiting.

Slowly the Elvenprince blinked and then bowed down, pressing his own lips against Belegron’s forehead, eliciting a small smile from him. Then he straightened his body again, his heart feeling lighter already knowing he was not alone. His eyes settled on the other elves present, who had watched and listened to the happenings and were swapping uncertain glances.

But then another elf stepped forward; Himhirlin, Maedhros’ captain, Fëanáro’s former captain and chief-commander of the combined forces of the brothers. Belegron arose and stepped slightly behind Maglor, watching what would happen. 

The tall elven commander stepped directly in front of the second son of Feanor, eyeing him silently for a very long time ere copying Belegron, kissing him then dropping on his knees in front of him laying his lips against the ring on Maglor’s hand. Then he arose and flanked him as well.

The other elves seemed to have reached a decision as they all one by one stepped closer and lowered themselves on their knees as well, bowing their heads in submission.

Maglor eyed them speechless and confused. How could they want to follow him again after he and his brothers had brought them so much grief and pain? Surely it would be better if they were to follow Arafinwë back to Valinor and Tirion, his uncle would be a far more worthy king to them, but then again he could understand why they would not want to return among elves that would always look down on them for their associations and deeds.

Maybe they were giving him a chance to clear himself of some of his guilt. He had given them a way to cut themselves from him forever but if they wanted to stay with him he had no right to reject them. Looking over his shoulder to Belegron who smiled satisfied and nodded to him, he squared his shoulders and spoke slowly still expecting protest or retaliation, “It is your decision then to remain at my side. So be it. I accept you as mine again and vow to do everything in my power to serve as a good Lord and king and redeem myself to you. Let us go east and find a place where we may start anew, away from those we have wronged, so that they may heal the wound to their Fae as well as we ours.”

With nothing more than what they carried on their bodies and in their packs – armour and weapons mostly – they started their way east, knowing at least that they would be able to defend themselves should they come upon enemies on their way even if they knew not what would await them in those lands beyond their maps.


	2. Chapter 2

Placing one hand against the powerful trunk of an old oak, he looked out of the dense forest to the camp barely a mile away from them. Determination and fear wrestled for supremacy in his heart.

"We do not have to do this, Mablung, it might even be better if we don’t." Remarked a soft voice at his side and the Sindawarrior turned to the Greenelf at his side. "We can still simply leave; many Elven Kingdoms arise now that Morgoth’s terror lies behind us. There we could also find a new home. "

"We do not have to, Filwin, that's true," replied Mablung slowly and turned his gaze back to the camp.

Only three times he had encountered the elf that led these troops, currently settling over there, into the East. But these three times were still burned forever in his memory and he had no doubt that this was the right decision - for his followers, for the other host and for all their people. Someone would have to keep an eye on them and at the same time the larger group would offer far more protection in this unknown and potentially hostile land.

For months now already they had followed quietly in the safe shadow of the host of warriors, thankful they had kept their eyes only on the way still to go without turning back. And fortunately they marched not too hastily so it had been not too difficult for his own troop consisting mostly of simple Elves some with Elflings would have not been able keep up with the rapid march formation of an army.

Now, however, they had caught up with them. They could not stay forever hidden and unnoticed, also grew with each passing day Mablung’s discomfort. If his troop fell into the hands a pack of orcs, he would not have enough warriors to protect the other elves, whereas the Noldoprince had more than enough.

But would he welcome them?

Three times he had met him.

The first time he had thought him an ordinary bard, back then during Fingolfin feast of reuniting. The slender singer had kept him company during the nights, had said he could not return to the tent he shared with his brother, because the other apparently always had company. Only a while later, when he had seen the two brothers together, he had realized who exactly his tentmate had been. The prince had only looked at him askant when he angrily confronted him, then shrugged and shared Daeron’s tent for the last few days.

The second time they had had met in the camp of Feanorian. Beleg and he had then been confronted with him as a warrior; the sprightly bard nowhere to see, his face strict and tense. But he had followed Mablung’s invitation to his tent, and they had shared the night before the disastrous battle.

The last time they had met was beneath the worst of stars, because neither with a bard nor with a warrior he was met, but with a kinslayer. Mablung had found himself on the other end of his bloodied blade. The massacre of the Dwarves he had barely survived. And when the Feanorian had carried out their attack on Doriath he had been weakened still, but stood to fight them nevertheless - everything in order to protect those who could not protect themselves. But to his great grief, he had run exactly into the one, against whom he had not wanted to fight, the one he had known.

The eyes of the Prince were filled with pain and terror caused by their horrendous acts, but desperate determination drove him on, the oath left them all no choice. And then they crossed their blades. Had he been well that day, the battle would certainly have ended differently, weakened however the frail Bard had been able to overcome him. When he had raised his sword to strike Mablung’s eyes closed in defeat; unwilling to see his own end and so he only had noticed the other’s the intention when the flat side of his sword collided with his head and he lost consciousness.

The warrior squared his shoulders and now he would see him again. Each of their meetings had been worse, but at least this should give him confidence, because it could certainly not go any worse.

In light of the setting sun, the group split from the protective shade of the trees and started to cross the last few hundred steps between them and the camp. Of course their presence did not escape the notice of the guards and so the whole camp was up and about and received them with suspicious curiosity. But to everyone's relief, no weapons were drawn.

No elf in his right mind could see a threat in their squad of very few scattered warriors, some handful of archers and a large number of ragged elves and elflings.

Mablungs view traveled for a moment among the gathered Noldorwarriors and noted that they also looked run down and worn out, before his eyes fell on the black-haired prince, who stepped up to face him.

"Mablung" he noted, his voice held great discomfort as he stepped uneasily from one foot to the other. A, as far as the Sinda could estimate, very untypical behavior for the prince who had back then always seemed rather confident and sure of himself.

"Maglor" Mablung replied neutrally. The elf had changed; he had lost weight, was gaunter and bonier than before, he looked tired and weary, as if he lacked the strength to go on and forced himself with stubborn willpower to every step further, no to every other intake of breath.

"What are you doing here?" his eyes wandered over the exhausted newcomers, "Why are you leading a bunch of defenseless elves to nowhere?"

"The same I could ask of you."

Maglor snorted, "We are hardly defenseless, which is why we are moving far, far away from our kin. We want to forget and let them forget. It is better for all our people, if we refrain from interacting with them."

"Understandable, but you will not go alone."

The Prince tipped his head to the side, "We won’t?"

"No." stated Mablung and stepped toward Maglor. The Noldo was as tall as he himself, but slenderer and more delicate in built, his appearance more representative of his preferred occupation as a singer and bard than that of a warrior.

The black-haired prince did not back down, even though the desire for it was clearly read in his eyes. "You followed us, but why?"

"Is that really so hard to guess, my Lord?"

"You want to take revenge?" guessed the black-haired elf puzzled.

Mablung chuckled without any humor. "Your confidence in my intelligence and wisdom is startling. Do you really think I would send maybe two hundred warriors against four thousand and lead three thousand defenseless elves in such a fight. No, you and your brothers, you have destroyed our home, as you have destroyed the refuge at the mouth of Sirion. We are looking for a new home and it is your duty to provide us with a new one."

His opponent’s mouth fell open and he stared at him for a long while speechless, before he replied powerless, "You expect me to procure a new home for you? I know nothing of the East and do not know where you might find a new place to settle."

"This I know already, but directions is not what we demand, nor will we found our own realm. You do not plan on wandering the east for all eternity, no, you will settle once you found safe and fertile lands. There we will settle."

A grumbling and murmuring arose among the ranks of the Noldor, apparently they were angered that a nonentity Sinda dared to address their prince thus and confused what exactly Mablung was implying. 

"I ..." the prince looked around for a long moment quite confused, “I do not understand. Why would you wish to settle near my realm?”

“Not near your realm, but within. You and your brothers took our home away so it is your duty to provide us with a new one, as I’ve already stated.”

Blinking slowly Maglor questioned, “You want to live in my realm? Beneath my rule? You would entrust your wellbeing to a kinslayer?”

“The vow is null and void; the time of war is behind us, so now the time for atonement has arrived.”

Analyzing the curious looks of his own followers and the weary but hopeful looks of the newly arrived Sindar, Noldor and Greenelves Maglor swallowed and said, "I recognize this demand and my obligation, Mablung, but I do not understand why you want to take this upon you. A new home you could find under many a Lord, why me? Why not Cirdan or Celeborn or Ereinion, why a kinslayer? "

"That's easy to answer, this way, we know where you are and we can keep an eye on you, we want you to acknowledge your guilt and repent, but above all we want reparation and your guidance and the protection that your warriors can offer."

The prince sighed in defeat, "And what you ask as reparation and repentance?"

Mablung smiled with satisfaction; the first hurdle was overcome, "As permanent reparation we want a new home, a safe, happy and rich realm and a wise and good Lord." but then his gaze became more serious, "but this is all also in your interest and your entourage, which is why we require more than just reparations. You are the last and thus the only one we can hold accountable for all the suffering that happened under your command. We demand that your face our punishment and asks for forgiveness, as determine by the customs of the ancient."

Some of the Noldor hissed angry and some closed their hands around the pommel of their swords.

"How dare you, Sinda?" snarled a powerful build elf, who approached Maglor’s side staring furiously at Mablung.

The dark blonde Sinda swallowed a moment unsure if it had not been foolish to demand such a thing of the proud Noldor, but before the situation could derail Maglor raised a hand soothingly, "It's alright, Belegron. The rites of the ancient might appeared barbaric today, but so were our actions."

The elf, Belegron, frowned before looking at Mablung, "The ritual takes place between the leaders of the two tribes. Prince Kanafinwë is our Lord, but this colorful bunch has no Lord, so who will instead speak and act for them? You?"

"Yes, I will." Mablung replied coolly "I have been leading them for quite a while now."

"And what are you asking for as a punishment?" Maglor muttered dejectedly, though determination flashing through his eyes.

"A stroke for every life taken in Doriath and Sirion. A lenient sentence taken by itself, but in total more than adequate. That would be 559 in Doriath and 375 in Sirion. "

"934 strikes? Are you insane?” Now another Noldo approached him snarling angrily, "Can an elf even survive that?"

"Himhirlin, please calm yourself." Maglor implored the angry elf, his fear of the punishment clearly audible in his voice.

"My Lord, you will surely not really take this into consideration."

The Prince paused and stared at the ground, but then he sighed, "Not in conformity with the ancient rules of the ritual, no, because that would be difficult to survive, but in a somewhat modified form. The ritual forbids a healer, the injury must heal on its own, which is unacceptable. Such a number of hits has never, to my knowledge, been attempted before, and we only know that an Elf can survive three hundred at a time. "

"Then you want to take the penalty in stages upon you?” Himhirlin inquired anxiously, "Nevertheless, it is sheer insanity, we do not know what to expect on our path and even with the help of a healer such injuries will weaken you for a long while, especially when new are constantly added."

Maglor trembling form turned and sought the ranks of his warriors until he found the ones he was looking for, "Ah, Turiel, Galadhim, I need your expertise as a healer, what do you think of this?"

The two healers exchanged a long look before the older of the two said, "It is certainly possible that you will survive the hits, especially with our help. Our people is resilient, but while we can keep you alive, we will eventually be no longer able reduce your suffering."

Mablung also listened, considering the words of the healer, even though he stood behind their demand of an adequate penalty, neither he nor his elves wanted the death of the Noldoprince, quite the opposite. "In how many parts should we split the punishment to be sure?" He inquired of the two healers.

"An elf’s heart will not simply stop under too much physical strain as it would happen with a mortal’s. The danger is rather the skin, muscles, and finally bone and lung damage, which would eventually lead to death even of an Eldar." replied the other healer "However, if we interrupt the penalty and treat the injuries to muscles and skin, then all strokes could be dealt at once. But as Galadhim said, from a certain number on, the pain will not even diminish with our healing and the number of possible strokes between our interventions will be reduced drastically." She looked to her Lord and bowed her head.

Maglor closed his eyes for a long moment before he sought Mablung’s eyes and said, "It is already late bring your elves in our encampment, Mablung, Belegron and Himhirlin will help you accommodate them and once the morning dawns, I will face your punishment."

With these words he turned on his heel and disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains description of violence

Hardly any elf found his rest during this night, least of all Maglor, who was haunted by fear and Mablung, who already resented having to intentionally bring such torments onto another elf. But he saw no alternative, nothing but this ancient ritual modified to fit their needs, would allow them to create a unit between those who shed the blood of their kin and those who had to suffer from these actions. And a unit was needed, he felt in his very bones. With Morgoth the evil had not been eradicated from the world, it might rest currently, but it would rear its ugly head sooner or later.

As the first rays of the morning sun lit the sky Mablung crept from his sleeping-place and straightened. Slowly his steps lead him to the center of the camp where some elves had come together already, ready to witness this punishment.

Himhirlin, Belegron and the two healers also were already waiting for him. Belegron had five rods normally used for horses with him and stared grimly at the floor by his feet.  
Mablung dared not to start a conversation with them as cold horror slowly seeped in his stomach with each passing moment and by the time Maglor finally arrived, sweat pooled on his brow. He did not want do this. Elves found no pleasure in the suffering of other beings and even less in the suffering of their own, but it had to be done.

When he found the eyes of the Noldoprince he saw in his eyes nothing but pure fear, but next to that rock-hard determination. This day would be greeted with blood and pain in order to pay for the wounds of the past, so that they might finally heal.

More and more elves now joined the circle around the two and finally Maglor nodded to himself before he removed his cloak and laid it aside and stripped his tunic off, which he wore underneath before he approached Mablung and after a brief moment of hesitation dropped to the ground. On his knees first, and then on his hands only to eventually touch his forehead to the dry earth.

As the Sinda looked down on the kneeling elf, he had to muster all his will in order to not call the whole thing off immediately. He could see the twitching muscles visibly vibrating with tension and could all too clearly feel his panic. But it mattered not, they had begun the ritual and now they would finish it.

"What is it you ask forgiveness for, Kanafinwë Makalaurë Fëanárion Finwion, High Prince of the Noldor?"

"I ask for forgiveness for the massacres against the people of Doriath and Sirion happening under my command. I ask forgiveness for the murder of our people, I ask forgiveness for me and mine. "

"Will you accept the punishment that I demand, witnessed by your kin gathered here to receive forgiveness from me and mine?"

"I will."

"Does someone object to this ritual? So speak up now or remain silent for all eternity."  
In a way both hopeless and anxious Mablung looked around, but no one stepped forward and no one disagreed.

"So be it then. So I speak, Mablung." concluded the Sinda and Maglor replied with surprisingly firm voice. "And so I speak, Kanafinwë Makalaurë."

Then he got up trembling and stroked his long black hair over one shoulder to bare his back and leaned over the prepared trunk.

One of the healers stepped towards Mablung and gave him one of the rods, before he said, "Two things first. I would ask you to test the damage and pain first that the rod wreaks so you will gain a better feel for what you will inflict upon our Lord, remember there are 934 blows which must be delivered. Secondly, I would like to ask you in my capacity as a healer, do try to not hit the same place several times in a row, otherwise it will very quickly lead to serious injury which we will need to treat and we would like to not interrupt too often if we don’t have to. "

Mablung nodded gravely and took the whip. Bemused, he turned it in his hand before he pushed up the sleeve of his tunic and struck himself once with the slender rod on the forearm. Immediately a biting pain shot through him and behind it left a deep, bloody welt. He had no doubt that Maglor could not bear more than perhaps four dozen such hits even with the aid of a healer.

The next strike against his arm he carried out with more caution, but it almost took fifteen more attempts until he was sure that he could achieve the effect exactly as he wanted it; the appropriate dose of deserved pain and anguish, but without unnecessarily torturing the other Elf.

Then he turned to Maglor. The dark-haired Elf seemed to have noticed that it is now his turn, because he stiffened in anticipation of the first blow.

"My Lord try to relax, otherwise you risk even more serious injuries." warned the healer.

So Mablung waited a moment longer until the Noldoprince had taken some deep and calming breaths, but then he lifted his arm and let the first stroke fall.

The prince stiffened again, but no sound escaped him. For a moment Mablung watched as a fine red line appeared on his back. To assure himself he looked at his arm and noticed with satisfaction that the bruise on Maglor back looked quite similar to the desired one on his arm.

But then he turned his full attention to the task at hand, considerately striking with just the right amount of force. The first twenty-five Maglor endured silently, but that ended when the first stroke fell on an already sore part of his back and he hissed.

From strike 67 on however it was finally over with his self-control of the other and he whimpered continuously, his back now covered with welts and reddened, but it took until the 142 hit before even his proportionate flicks demanded the first blood. Then however it happened very quickly and within a few blows Maglor’s back transformed into bloody misery and for the Elvenprince began his ordeal, because now every blow brought with it a great deal of pain and elicited a hardly suppressed cry.

Mablung’s Fae hurt for him, but he assumed that he would not do the tormented elf any favors if he delaying the inevitable strikes and so he increased the frequency of his hits to be done with the punishment as quickly as possible.

Sometime around the 150th blow the cries of pain of the prince arrived at the peak and at this time the first elflings, who had come with her parents to witness the punishment, also broke down into tears, unable to bear the suffering of one of their own any longer and were taken away.

As Maglor tried to duck away under the blows and escape, Mablung grabbed him by the neck and held him in place. From this new position he was confronted even more with his work and saw not only every bruise and gash, but also the individual muscle fibers and injured blood vessels. From his crouched posture the blood of the princes spurted with every stroke not only on his arm, but also his torso and worse his face and sprinkled his pale skin red.

He had served as a warrior for millennia, but while he had no problems to stand in the bowels of orcs and to be almost bathed in their blood, the idea that the blood that now covered gradually his skin, was that of another elf evoked a panicked nausea in him, he could only suppress with great difficulty.

After they had crossed the two-hundred-line, Maglor’s cries slowly quieted leaving behind only broken sobs as he stopped trying to fight against Mablung’s hold, finally surrendering to his fate. Nevertheless the Sinda did not let go of him, but stroked him as best they could with his thumb calmly over the nape of the neck. Although he doubted that Maglor would among all the pain even notice the gentle touch, but the idea of not only handing out pain reassured him somewhat. 

With each stroke looking for a somewhat undamaged piece of skin and accompanied by the pitiful sounds of pain from the Prince they painfully slow reached three hundred. But then the healer came closer and Mablung paused, inwardly pleading, hoping that they would suspend the sentence to eliminate the first injury. But after a moment they signaled him to continue.

They allowed about a hundred more blows, but when the prince began to convulse and wheezily gasping for breath, they stopped him immediately and set about to wash the wounds and then carefully be coated it with the already prepared athelas-salve before gently laying their hands on the wounds and spoke their healing words. Grateful for the short break the Sinda stepped back and looked around. Many of the elves present, especially from his own host had tears of sympathy in their eyes. Their gazes fixed on the whimpering elvenprince.

Mablung followed their gazes and looked at Maglor’s face. The black-haired Elf was ashen, his eyes reddened and looked against his pale, tear-stained face almost bloodshot as he frantically gritted his teeth and stared grimly at the floor.

But then came Belegron to him and pulled the whip from the cramped hand, he looked at it for a moment before throwing it aside and pressed him a new unscathed one in his hand and stepped back with a rigid look focused on his battered Lord.

The healers were quite busy for a while patching Maglor back together, but for Mablung time passed far too quickly, before they made way for him again.

When he approached the Noldo and inspected his back he was pleased to note that the two had done their work quite well. Where previously deep bloody lacerations had covered the entire length of his back, the skin now was closed again, but shimmered still in an angry red and was hot to the touch.

A couple of times he stroked soothingly over the sore flesh before he pulled himself together and raised the rod again. It turned out that the healer had been right. This time Maglor collapsed after little more than three hundred blows and although the two Elves significantly prolonged their treatment, they managed not to close all of the deep welts.

Worried Mablung watching the events unfold ere he turned to one of them, "Would it be better to postpone the rest for another time."

"I don’t know. My Prince" he said turning to Maglor, "There are still 223 hits missing, it might be better if they are administered at another time?"

The black-haired elf whimpered tortured before he shook his head.

"My Lord, it might be really wise to take a break now, so that you can recover from your torment. We were not able to close all the wounds, if this is continued now, then you will be greatly weakened during our next attempt and we will be able to do even less for you."

But Maglor shook persistently his head.

With a sigh, the healer turned back to Mablung, "Then it is probably advisable to continue in smaller stages, perhaps initially only fifty maybe a hundred ...", but Maglor interrupted him with a panted "All."

"All, my Lord? But this is madness, you need breaks and rest."

"No, I want ... to get... this over with ... as soon as possible" he gasped, "No more... breaks."

Mablung swallowed tensely before accepting a new crop and moved to get a closer look at the injury on Maglor’s back. He had inadvertently have limited many of his hits to the middle of his back, when the last two hundred were placed primarily above and below and he was a little more careful ...

He took a deep breath and let his eyes circle one last time over the crowd. At least the punishment had its desired effect and for the bystanders. The Noldorwarriors suffered visibly with their Lord, who took all the punishment for them and their actions on himself.

His own companions showed no more hatred or disgust, their faces drawn by compassion and forgiveness and the heartfelt plea to not inflict anymore pain on the elf. Many of them probably would have fled a long while ago to not witness the suffering of one of them any longer and only the desire to show the elvenprince the proper respect for his sacrifices held them in place.

But then Mablung collected himself and lifted his rod. Maglor wanted to undergo his punishment as quickly as possible, so he would fulfill his wish. As good as possible, he tried to focus on the hiss of the whip, the frantic pounding of his own heart or the sobbing of the crowd. All to block out the howling and whining of the Prince.

Once at last stroke had fallen Mablung flung the hated rod out of his view, his eyes settling on anything but the whimpering prince who was sobbing brokenly, blind and deaf to the world around him in his suffering.

But then Maglor seemed to remember why exactly he had accepted this pain and he braced himself with enormous effort and rose slightly of the trunk, to which he had clung the last hours before he collapsed in front of Mablung. Not exactly the bow the ritual demanded, but under the circumstances, more than adequate.

 

"You and yours are forgiven" the Sinda murmured now with tears in his eyes, but then he lunged forward to steady Maglor, as he nodded slightly before his eyes lost focus and he collapsed completely sagging unconsciously to the side.

Frantically he searched for a sign of life in the other Elf. The two healers were immediately at his side to take care of their Lord, who’s rattling breath, although sounding terribly, brought great relief to Mablung. He was still breathing.

As the healer took Maglor away in order to better aid him, the Sindawarrior remained motionless behind, kneeling in the dust. As the burden of his duty finally fell away he could no longer hold back his pained sobs. All of a sudden all the impressions which he had previously blocked out so successfully pressed into his consciousness and Fae. The atmosphere of suffering and agony, the metallic smell of blood, his cramped right arm and the sticky wet feel of his skin that was covered with blood, sweat and dust, but worst of all, the guilt that he had caused the suffering of another elf burdened him greatly and almost crushed him.

Had not Belegron finally step next to him and led him away to take a bath in the river and then escorted him to the safety and privacy of his tent, he would probably still have been kneeling there hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am perfectly aware that a human could not survive the punishment I've placed on Maglor in this chapter, but I needed a suitable punishment for the crime as killing him or locking him up was hardly possible. So while a human cannot survive this, an elf will. And yes, I am also aware that I am evil.


	4. Chapter 4

It took eighteen more days until Maglor finally regained consciousness and during this time the healers kept all visitors away from him. Not even Himhirlin and Belegron, his captains, who had taken command in his absence, were allowed near him and Mablung they also turned away each time, he came to inquire after his health.

Only when the prince reopened his eyes, they finally allowed visitors. When it was the Sinda's turn, as he entered cautiously. Maglor awaited him still lying on his stomach. His back heavily bandaged and the smell of Athelas heavily in the air, left no doubt that he was not yet fully recovered even after such a long time.

"My Lord," he greeted uncertain before he dropped to the ground beside him. "I want to ask your forgiveness, it was not my intention to cause you so much suffering."

"There is nothing to forgive, Mablung, you did only what needed to be done and what I have allowed. We both know this; there is no reason for you to worry. I'll hold none of it against you, if anything, I want to thank you. "

"Sire?"

"This punishment, though it has caused me the most horrible pain I've ever experienced, it has also given me something." Maglor replied thoughtfully, "Our actions have weighed heavily on me, now that I received the punishment for it my heart and my Fae feel lighter than they have in centuries. I thank you for that. I have already recovered almost completely again but Galadhim said I should additionally treat myself at least one more day of rest. When that time has gone by we will break camp and continue our way into the East looking for a good place for our new home."

Mablung nodded slowly, "I shall go and inform my companions then. When will you ask our allegiance and subservience, my Lord?"

The Noldoprinz furrowed his forehead thoughtfully, "I should do so before we start our journey, otherwise I cannot be sure of their obedience, just as they cannot fully trust in my protection. I'll claim you and your companion tomorrow as mine. Today I still want to rest a bit after all your number is not that high, so I won’t need more than a day."

The Sinda nodded, satisfied that Maglor would quickly rectify their situation and he would soon be able to shift the unwanted burden of leadership onto the Noldoprince and could fully follow his calling as a warrior and protector again without worrying about the welfare of an entire people.

"Then I shall now longer keep you from your rest and go to prepare my companions."

The elf prince nodded dismissing him and Mablung disappeared with a bow out of the tent.

The rest of the day the Sinda spent teaching and explaining to the oath of allegiance to all of his companions. Only those few who ever had him swear their loyalty to Thingol or the High King Turgon when they entered their services were already familiar with it, but the vast majority were born in Doriath, Gondolin or even later in Sirion and no one had ever demanded such an oath of them as the oath of their ancestors had extended to them or they never had a true Lord before.

When the next day dawned all soon gathered again in the middle of the camp to attend another important but this time joyful event.

This time was Maglor one of the first present and surveyed the slow arrival of all patiently. As Mablung watched him, he realized that he now met him again in another form with some amusement. While having already met the bard, the warrior and the kinslayer he was just now meeting the Lord and Prince.

Gone were leggings and tunic, gone was the armor, instead he expected them in simple dark blue robes, his signet ring on his finger, his circlet on his forehead, his sword at his side and his banner behind him.

Finally, when the last elves had arrived Maglor turned to those gathered.

"There are many things that I know, but a lot more that I do not know. Many things that I see and even more which I am blind to. Never had I thought that I would on day find myself beyond all maps among faithful friends and old but even less I would have expected that I would find myself in the midst of those on whom I have inflicted great injustice and suffering and that they would be willing to give me a chance to repent these wrongs.

I might not fully understand what brings you all to me, but I accept you and your demand. I have taken your home and your loved ones from you; there is nothing I can do to change this. The past is certain, but the future is still ahead of us and if you are willing to take my hand and follow, then I will lead you."

Mablung was the first to step in front of the Noldoprinzen who unshed his sword and held it loosely in his hand, before he spoke, "Kneel down and take with both of your hands the blade of your Lord, which he hands you, as a sign of the protection he promises to you and yours."

The Sinda fell obediently to his knees and clasped with both hands, the edge of the sword before he sat it on his chest and bowed his head. "I bow to my Lord out of my own freewill."

"Lift your head and swears the oath of allegiance to your Lord as he will swear the oath of the Lord."

Mablung looked up and sought Maglor’s eyes before he spoke, "I, Mablung, of the Sindar hereby solemnly swear to you, my Lord and Prince my selfless and unbreakable loyalty and my obedience. I submit myself to your rule; I give allegiance during times of peace and war. And I solemnly swear my Lord and Prince, aidance by council and deed. I will never close my heart to you and never speak untruth to you and put all my mind, Fae and body in your services. I am yours, so I speak, Mablung. "

"Now kiss my crest and hear the words that will seal our federacy."

The Sinda leaned forward and pressed his lips for a moment against the cool metal of the signet ring before he lowered his head. Maglor placed his hand on his head then, and said his own oath.

"I, Kanafinwë Makalaurë, son of Fëanáro and High Prince of Noldor swear solemnly to you, Mablung selfless and unwavering loyalty. I give you my justice under my reign. I will never close my heart to you and never speak untruth to you. And I solemnly swear to you, Mablung, protection in war and guidance and care in peace. You and your family will always find refuge in my house. You are mine, so I speak, Kanafinwë Makalaurë. Arise now."

Then he leaned towards the Sinda and kissed him on the forehead and Mablung could feel the bond establishing itself between his Fae and the Noldoprince, replacing the torn one that once bond him to Doriath and Thingol. Weak and fragile at the moment, but with every year that went by it would become stronger, until one day nothing could truly break it.

Satisfied, he went back to the other elves and vacating the place for the next one. First came the sparse number of Noldor who had come from Gondolin to Sirion and from there under Mablung’s lead here, then the Sindawarriors and the archers of Greenelves. The end was made up by those simple Elves who had never served a masters thus among them the Ellith with their elflings and a long series of other young elves.

Just as Maglor had anticipated, the number of them was low enough to tie them all to him in one day and so the prince just announced at the end that they would celebrate their new unity once they had founded there new realm and remembered them again of tomorrow's departure, before retiring to his tent to recover from the efforts which brought the establishing of so many new bonds with them.

At the dawn of next morning they broke camp and set out together on the long march at which’s end they hopefully would find a new home. But the road was long and arduous. Although the scouts had much longer routes to travel as they were on the lookout for land that was fertile in order to feed them all, safe from enemies and uninhabited, the main host still had many hundred miles ground to cover.


	5. Chapter 5

Days turned into weeks, and then months, until finally one of the scouts reported excitedly back to Maglor of a suitable location. Beyond a large inland lake he had caught sight of a mighty forest in which’s heart lay lush green pastures that showed no sign of other inhabitants.

The words of the young Greenelf convinced the old prince and so they changed march-direction and followed the guidance of the scout to inspect his findings together.

The host climbed the mountain range from where the elf had made his discovery and their sharp eyes made out what had been described to them in the distance beyond the huge lake.

The Noldoprince called some of the oldest and wisest elves among his followers together a little off their night camp to hear what they thought of the place.

"I agree with the boy," said Celinduil, an old Sinda who had served for long years as a counselor at Thingol court, his eyes directed in the east. "This seems to be a good place indeed. The trees are old and powerful; with the magic of our people they will hide our presence and offer us protection."

"Indeed," Talor, a warrior from Gondolin, agreed. "The forest stretches for miles, before disclosing the clearing. When we get there we can create an illusion which will hide it. So no one will find us.

"The mountains in the northeast of the forest will also protect us, they will also provide us with the stones which we need to build a city," confirmed Dorinhil, another Noldor, but from Maglor original entourage and an experienced mason.

The Noldoprince nodded slowly, "I agree. The lush grass is indicative for good soil; it and forest will not let us starve." Then he looked at Mablung who nodded likewise. “You're right. I can see no signs that anyone lives there. No humans or elves, and certainly no orcs. "

"Will we heed there then and examine the land, my Lord?" Himhirlin inquired.

Maglor returned his gaze to the green spot, which could be just what they had been looking for to establish their new home before returning his gaze to the faces of his companions and nodded. "Yes, we rest here tonight and tomorrow we start to circle around the lake.“

Satisfied the other elves nodded ere turning away to order setting up camp, leaving Maglor behind staring into the East.

 

It took two weeks to wander around the lake but at least the fare was much better now that they could fish and it improved even more once they stepped beneath the canopy of leaves. Berries, nuts and game were plenty and raised the spirit of the wary and ragged elves.

While mayor parts of their host continued steadily towards the clearing many elves, especially Sindar and Greenelves, wander off to explore the woods and enjoy climbing up the trees again and jumping through the branches.

Maglor lead his people along the invisible path around the lake that would sooner or later reveal what would become their new home eventually.

It was three days later when a couple of young elves ran up to him yelling excitedly over each other. It took the old elf a few minutes to calm them down enough to understand what they had to tell him so urgently.

“We found the clearing, my lord?” one of them called happily.

“And we found no signs of others who might already live there” another cried.

Maglor nodded calmly and said, “These are very good news then, penneth. Lead the way.”

Word spread quickly among the elves and with new enthusiasm they followed after the young ones, who lead them eagerly over hedge and ditch until finally the trees parted and gave way to vast green lands.

Mablung and Celinduil stepped up to Maglor and let their eyes wander over the plain. Then the councillor nodded with a satisfied smile and said, “We should turn set up our camp near the lake at the little bay over there, so we will not have to cover too much distance to gather water.”

“I agree” Mablung mumbled quite overwhelmed at the thought that their wanderings might come to an end at last, “Then we should sent out scouts to explore the surrounding lands to make sure no threats lurk here.”

They crossed the last bit of distance until they reached the water’s edge where they sat up camp under the protection of same isolated trees.

Their scouts wandered of and returned but none of them brought with them any unfavourable news of sightings of danger or other inhabitants other than deer, bird or rabbit, so they started to secure their provisory settlement with wood that way it would withstand the storms that brew over the giant lake while they turned their attention onto planning the city they would build.

 

When the year and with it the age turned the first stone was laid to build a city that would satisfy the needs and cravings of three different people. The Noldor who preferred a fortified city of stone and would have liked to build it in the middle of the plain with wide lands surrounding it. The Sindar who wanted to build their new home deep within the forest beneath the safe cover of the trees. And the Greenelves who would forgo houses on the ground altogether and build their dwellings in the crowns of the trees.

The council that for now and up until Maglor’s coronation would function as governing body spent many days discussing and arguing the benefits and disadvantages of many an idea brought before them.

In the end they decided to build their city on the bank of the lake, along both sides of the long stretched creek and the small river that split the land; allowing both the wideness of the lake and the close protectiveness of the forest. They would build it with strong walls of stone to satisfy the Noldor and build the houses beneath the towering trees that stood in mitten of their city’s streets just like the Sindar wanted it, while the Greenelves would build their houses in the crowns of those trees.

With time the work at their city progressed and the land grew more and more sated with the ancient magic that followed the elves everywhere. So before even the second century in this new age dawned they had established themselves in their new realm and could finally hid the clearing where now wide fields and fruit plantations grew from the eyes of everyone who would fancy to look across the vast waters of the Sea of Rhûn; leaving behind the illusion of an impenetrable forest that would be drawn on many a map by unknowing scholars.

**Author's Note:**

> Belegron called Maglor king, because that is where I'm ultimately heading for with this story. I choose the title king because that is the background those elves are coming from during the first age in Beleriand. There is a High-king (now Ereinion Gil-Galad) and other kings beneath; taking up the title lord is a trend that develops later in the second age. (At least according to my head canon)


End file.
